


Or We Can Just Walk Away

by hithelleth



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hithelleth/pseuds/hithelleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie had vengeance on her mind. It didn't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Or We Can Just Walk Away

She was there when they found him, sitting behind his desk, with a glass of whiskey in his hand, a gun on the desk. He didn’t even have the decency to fight or run. He laughed at them when they came.

They wouldn’t let her kill him. Something about that he was needed for the information he had. Something about that death would be too mild a punishment for him. Nora said the latter.

Charlie didn’t care. If she killed him, then maybe she could let the fire die out. Maybe she could breathe again. Live. Maybe she could be herself. _It is a lie_ , an annoying little thought inside her whispered. There was no herself anymore.

The red-head hissed at her. Called Charlie a stupid little girl. Said her petty little score-settling didn’t matter. Told her to shut up. Miles dragged her away. Charlie went. “Before you get yourself in trouble,” he said. The fire said maybe she should have got herself in trouble. Maybe the red-head would have ordered her killed. Either him or her, it was just the same.

***

It wasn’t hard to learn where they put him. The second night she sneaked past the guards. She had to kill the one with the keys, though. (For a second, the annoying little part inside her nudged at her, telling her there was something wrong with it. Charlie swatted it down. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been more important than what she had to do.)

He seemed happy to see her. She didn’t like it. He should have been scared. Or angry. Anything. Not smirking. Not resigned.

“Either shoot me or leave me alone,” he told her.

***

He led through the secret passages only he knew. (And Miles. Miles had to know, didn’t he?) They ended up in the tunnels.

She had her gun. And her crossbow. He had nothing. Not even boots on his feet.

Not letting him out of her sight, she was working out her plan. She needed to get him somewhere away from everyone. Somewhere she could take time. Nora had been right. Only killing him would have been too mild a punishment. The fire supplied images of Danny beaten and bruised, of Rachel in a dungeon.

They stole boots and a Georgian uniform for him. It would help them get away more easily. So that she could take time.

Somewhere on their own, she would make him tell her everything. She. Not someone else. It was her right. He had done it to Rachel, hadn’t he? _(Do you really care about Rachel?_ The annoying thing stirred inside her again. An image of Rachel, strong and swift and healthy flickered in her head. Charlie closed her eyes for a moment, shutting it off.) There was still her father. And Danny. Mostly Danny.

***

It was not that easy finding an isolated place in Philadelphia or nearby.

Charlie stopped gripping her gun the second day.

The third day she stopped breathing on his neck and walked beside him.

The fourth day they found a pair of horses.

Charlie let him lead. She was still in charge. She had weapons. And she only needed to yell his name and they would help her get him back to prison. Although that would have interfered with her plan. But maybe the red-head would have let her kill him, now, after he escaped. ( _What if the red-head guessed Charlie had helped him?_ Charlie shook her head to get rid of the pesky thought.)

***

They had been on the road for a week when he started talking. She didn’t pay attention to him.

His words started meddling with the fire. It wasn’t quite as hot as it had been.

The irritating little part inside her voiced its thoughts more frequently. It was growing, too.

She didn’t even notice it at first, the pain sipping through the pores of burned crust.

***

"Have you decided yet how you’ll kill me?" he asked, casually.

"You think that it’s your fault, that it’s something you did. That’s why everyone leaves you. That’s why everyone dies. If you did things differently, better... if you were different, better... You’re not worth it, that’s why you lose everyone. It’s your punishment for not being good enough."

He spoke as to himself.

They were half-way across the Republic - what used to be the Republic.

She pointed the gun at him.

She fired all the bullets.

She kept squeezing the trigger. The gun was clicking empty.

She fell on her knees.

She curled into a ball and cried.

The fire was dead.

***

His hands felt soft when he took the gun away. She remembered that.

She couldn’t stop the tears.

He carried her. She didn’t know when. She didn’t know where.

The tears stopped.

She still cried, shaking with violent, dry sobs.

He wiped her face with a wet cloth.

She slept.

She woke up. The tears came back.

She just wanted to stop crying, to sleep. She couldn’t.

She dropped the bowl of something – food – he put into her hands.

The tears dried up again. She wanted to sleep forever so they would never come back again. But they did.

She slept. And cried.

The sleeping got longer. The crying got shorter.

She noticed they were in a cabin.

"Three days," he said. "Eat." He shoved a bowl into her hands again. She ate this time. So she could kill him. She froze. No. She pushed the thought away. No. She wouldn’t. The fire was dead. The fire had been wrong.

She watched him.

She would get stronger. Then she would simply leave. She would forget about him. It was the last lie from the tiniest little ember left behind the fire. Charlie sighed. The pesky little spot went cold.

***

They resumed going west a few days later when she could ride again.

They let the horses loose before reaching the Plains Nation and found themselves plain clothes.

She started talking a day after the border.

Questions poured out of her. He didn’t seem to mind. At least, he always answered. (Charlie remembered there used to be someone who didn’t, someone who used to sigh and roll their eyes at her. She didn’t want to think of their name. If she had, she would have started missing them.)

They fought. Yelled at each other. (She did most of the yelling. Then she cried again.)

She believed him.

He told her about his little sisters. How they had squealed with joy when he had swung them high under the sky. How he had hated baby-sitting them, perched on the curb while they rode their bikes up and down their street while his friends laughed at him, calling him a nanny. How he had always gone by their school on the way home, peeking through the gates to catch a glimpse of them, to make sure they had been all right.

She told him about Danny. How she had hated her parents always putting him first. How he had smiled when she had given him the dessert she had saved for him. How she had woken up three times a night and listened to his breathing.

***

It started slowly, only a spark here and there, extinguished as fast as it appeared.

Then there were little flickering flames, growing steadily into a fire.

It was a different kind of fire this time. One born from a look, a touch, a kiss.

It didn’t make the pain go away. It didn’t silence her.

But it warmed her. It made her able to breathe again.

***

There was water in the mountains, animals, few people. It suited them.

"Miles would like it here." She spoke out loud without thinking. The words wanted to crush them. They held on to each other to keep themselves from falling apart.

"Maybe one day..." Bass left it hanging in the air.

"Maybe one day." Charlie repeated.

It was not a lie, was it? Hope? Why not? They, of all people, should have known anything is possible.

They embraced more tightly. Just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Good? Bad?
> 
> I've been having Bass and Charlie feels. For days. So I spewed this out in the middle of the night. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, so quibble away if you see something. Comments are always welcome.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [As the Pale Morning Sings of Forgotten Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805587) by [hayj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayj/pseuds/hayj)




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